


Untitled

by janescott



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A getting-back-together kind of a fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gif quite some time ago (well over a year) for the now-defunct gay-xmas-elves exchange on LJ. Written - I think - for floridaminxie. Beta'd by magenta :3
> 
> It's basically a getting-back-together fic, and I realise it will seem somewhat anachronistic now but the key word, as always, is fiction :-)
> 
> (it's untitled because I cannot for the life of me remember what I called it. The doc is just called Adam)

"Adam." Brad keeps his voice low, not really wanting to disturb Adam while he looks so bone-tired, but his hand is right up under Brad's vest, his fingers idly stroking, which is making Brad feel kind of warm all over, which is really, really nice, but there's no way that can end in a good place for either of them right now.

Not with Adam entrenched in the Idol tour, and Drake out there somewhere, waiting for him.

Reluctantly Brad curls his fingers around Adam's wrist and digs his fingers in. "Adam, you have to – stop."

Adam's eyes flutter all the way open, and he frowns, like he's not sure where he is. "Shit. Sorry." His voice is raspy with exhaustion and overuse as he pulls his hand back – slowly, Brad notes, as Adam's fingertips drag just over the jut of his hipbone, poking up above his pants.

Brad shakes his head and manages to dig up a smile from somewhere. "It's fine. You're ... super-tired. But I should go – Cassidy's waiting downstairs."

With a muffled groan, Adam shifts until he's sitting up on the bed. He tilts his head so he's looking at Brad sideways.

"Okay. Thanks for – for coming," and it's awkward in a way that Adam should never be awkward, and it carries the weight of _too much_ , but Brad just reminds himself – again – that Adam has a boyfriend, and he's hella busy with the Idol tour and recording and - 

"Wouldn't have missed it," he says, honestly, still after all this time a little in awe of Adam's talent. He knows he should have said no when Adam invited him, Cassidy and the rest of their friends who had come to the show back to the hotel, but he'd found himself saying yes, and in one of those weird turns that his life seems to take sometimes, he'd then found himself lying on Adam's bed.

They'd talked through the tiny bottles of booze from the mini-bar, with Adam shrugging off the lecture he was going to get the next day from the handlers. "I can only be PG for so long before I start to lose my fucking mind," he'd said, casually tossing Brad a bottle of vodka before calling down for room service. 

Brad had sent a quick text down to Cassidy, _having a couple – come up?_ , only partly because Cassidy can pout for _days_ if he thinks he's being left out of anything, but also partly because – even though they broke up so long ago, and even though Adam has a boyfriend now – Brad's never entirely trusted himself with Adam.

_cute bartndr_ had come back, and Brad knew he was on his own, and in somewhat dangerous waters.

But he's survived the shark-infested deeps, as it were, he reminds himself as he shakes himself a little bit, giving himself a short but stern lecture on friendship, and boundaries.

Adam reaches out his hand, and Brad takes it, falling back on old, instinctive patterns. Adam smiles as he weaves their fingers together and says, "When I'm home again, I'll call you. We should – do something."

Brad pauses and bites his lip, as every single inappropriate response to that runs through his head. In the end – when the silence is starting to get a little bit too long – he just smiles, squeezes Adam's hand and says, "Sure, honey. I'll have my people call your people. We'll do brunch."

Adam laughs at that, unguarded and bright, and Brad's heart twists, just a little bit; the sound of Adam's laugh turning into a not-entirely welcome sense-memory.

He draws his hand back; watching, fascinated as their fingertips touch for one, silent moment.

"Brunch," Adam says, still smiling.

"It's a date."

Brad's absurdly pleased that he's managed to keep his voice light. He waggles his fingers in a careless-looking wave before all but fleeing the hotel room.

He finds Cassidy in the hotel bar, propping his head on one hand and nursing a colourful, lethal-looking drink in the other, idly flirting with the guy behind the bar, who's methodically drying glasses and nodding occasionally. 

Brad takes Cassidy's glass and drinks and drinks, not stopping until it's empty.

Cassidy raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything, which is one of the reasons Brad loves him, even when he's got his head up his ass and working a really unpleasant jealous and slightly bitter vibe, which he kind of is now, because they both know that Adam’s heading right for the kind of stardom that Cassidy can only dream about. It doesn’t make Cassidy bad at what he does, it’s just that Adam’s in a different class. Than all of them. 

"Better?" Cassidy asks, without moving.

Brad spins his hand as he puts the empty glass back down on the bar. "Let's skip to the part where the answer is yes. Save us both a lot of time."

Cassidy just shakes his head and rolls his eyes as he slides off his stool. 

"Fine, diva, whatever you say. C'mon. I'll take you home."

Brad wants to point out that of the two of them, Cassidy's a much bigger diva, but it's an old argument, and he doesn't feel up to exchanging those barbs that don't look like much on the surface, but are designed to cut deep, even – or especially – when it's one of your best friends.

He doesn't see Adam – doesn't even think about him, really – for several weeks after that, and that's the way it's been with them since they came through the other side of their break up – they can go for weeks or months with nothing more than the odd text, and yet pick up like nothing at all has happened.

Even though he doesn't think (consciously at least) about Adam; it takes him a few days to settle back into his skin, and his life properly. He loves it; loves all of it – living in LA and having so much freedom to do whatever the fuck he wants. It was heady at first, when he arrived here pretty much straight out of high school; the drumbeat of _escape escape escape_ beating at the inside of his skull from the time he realised that he really, really wasn't like other boys.

It had taken him a while, even here in this somewhat magical land, to find a place; a niche; but he had, and once he'd chipped it out for himself, he set about improving it – making it fucking _shine_.

Of course, it's easier to shine on some days than others – days where he loses his keys, or misses out on a job, or gets caught by an unexpected memory that catches him out and trips him up.

On those days, Brad grits his teeth and determines to push through, until the knot untwists again. 

He's having a day like that when Adam calls, out of the clear blue sky as always. He'd been dreaming – a vivid, colour soaked dream about the last Burning Man he and Adam had gone to together. It was so vivid that Brad had woken up, thinking he was in their tent, sand-covered, sticky and high.

When he'd finally surfaced properly and realised it was just another day in LA, and he was in bed alone ... Brad had got out of bed smiling as hard as he could, determined to varnish over the crushing, twisting knot in his chest with as much sparkle and shine as he could muster.

And now Adam's on the phone, bright and happy, bubbling over about his album.

"So it's _finished_ and I have it in my hands, and I'm having a listening party tomorrow night and I know it's horribly short notice but - "

"I dreamed about you." Brad doesn't mean to say it – he certainly doesn't mean to blurt it out like that – but the dream has been digging under his skin all day, and now here's Adam, still in some ways _his_ Adam, especially when he's just kind of spilling over with joy like this and it just slips out.

"You ... was it dirty?"

Brad has to close his eyes, because that makes him kind of dizzy, and that's his Adam as well – he can turn from sweet and joyous to filthy and sexy on a dime, which has never been _fair_ but it made their relationship ... lively at the very least.

He forces out a laugh that's _almost_ not shaky and says, "It was about Burning Man. The last time we went together."

"So that's a yes." Brad laughs again, more genuine this time, as Adam hums happily in his ear.

They reminisce for a while, and talking about Burning Man leads to skirting the edges of things they haven't talked about in years – and it's dangerous territory for Brad's heart. 

They're laughing softly together over some night out that Brad had completely forgotten; when Adam had had to fend off the advances of a particularly persistent – and drunk – boy in a club that has since shut down. Brad had ended up shutting everyone up by kissing Adam on the dancefloor – the kind of lingering, intimate kiss that promises _more_.

As Brad recalls, he couldn't walk straight the next day.

"Or the day after that," Adam says, and Brad rolls his eyes at the note of pride in Adam's voice, even though that had been _three years ago_.

"So – are you coming tomorrow? To the party," Adam says then, his voice sliding into something low and silky, but Brad knows him well enough to hear the laughter wanting to bubble up, just under the surface, and he finds himself smiling in response.

"Honey," he says, deliberately drawing out his Texas drawl, because he knows it still drives Adam nuts. "I wouldn't be anywhere _else_."

Adam's still laughing when he hangs up the phone.

The party is well under way by the time Brad gets there; and it's all people that he knows – that he and Adam know – friends that refused to choose between them when they broke up, and Brad's profoundly glad for that now, because he knows that they would have chosen Adam over him – Adam _attracts_ people like a magnet, and he has this knack of ... keeping them that Brad's always envied a little bit.

He puts on his best and brightest smile, and finds a drink with the most alcoholic content as soon as he can. He's just drained whatever it is, and is looking for the next one when familiar arms wrap around him from behind.

Brad spins in Adam's grip and laughs as he reaches up, kissing him quickly.

"You're here," he says, his voice quiet in the rumble of the party around them, running one hand down Brad's back.

"I was waiting for you to get here – I didn't want to start without you," Adam explains, sneaking in a quick pinch of Brad's ass before letting him go. Brad laughs, and shoves at Adam's chest, before catching Drake's eye. He looks tired and unhappy, and Brad feels bad for him for a second, but everyone knows it's the way Adam is. 

Adam has no idea what personal boundaries _are_ , has no concept of personal space at all, and Drake's been dating him long enough to know that, but Brad withdraws anyway, because tonight's about Adam entirely – not boyfriends, or ex-boyfriends, or territorial disputes. 

Brad picks up a full wine glass from a side table and silently tilts it in Drake's direction before turning into yet another hug – Danielle this time. He hasn't seen her for what feels like months, and they slip easily into idle gossip before Adam moves to the centre of the room, and shuts everyone up by turning the volume on his stereo up full blast.

Brad doesn't know the song – not yet anyway – but Adam's voice is unmistakable, and everyone finds a seat, or something to lean on. Brad finds himself curled up on the insanely comfortable sofa, his head resting on Danielle's shoulder. He closes his eyes, and lets the music and Adam's voice – filling the corners of the room – wash over him.

The party goes on for hours, because Adam stops the CD after every track, and every track has its own story, that he _has_ to share with everyone. Brad watches, curled up warm and cosy against Danielle, who's watching Adam closely; grinning and basking in her friend's success.

Adam hugs him tight again, when he's ready to leave, exhausted and more than a little drunk; a cab waiting outside. He's nearly the last person standing – either they've passed out in one of Adam's guest rooms, or they've left already. Brad had somehow ended up staying; idly reminiscing with Adam and Danielle while Drake sat quietly by Adam, getting, Brad noticed, very, very drunk.

He probably would have done the same thing in Drake's position – a boyfriend he's not entirely sure of, and an ex with a long and chequered history ... Brad would have got _very_ drunk, and possibly picked a fight.

He admires Drake's restraint.

"I'll call you, okay? We'll ... do something. Hang out." Adam's a little drunk still and swaying from sheer exhaustion, so Brad just smiles and leans up to kiss him quickly on the cheek.

"Sure, honey," he says softly. "We'll talk soon."

_Soon_ is always relative where Adam is concerned, so Brad can relegate it to the back of his mind; half-expecting Adam to call him at 3am one night because he's had an idea that he just _has_ to share, and somehow Brad is still one of Adam's 3am friends, which has never made sense to Brad, but he goes along with it anyway, because 3am Adam is the most unguarded version of himself.

He's Brad's favourite version of Adam.

It's during one of these calls – much sooner than Brad expects to hear from him, just a few days after the party, just before Halloween – that Adam lets it slip he's broken up with Drake. Brad blinks because he's sure he's misheard, even though there was a weird vibe at the listening party.

"I – what?"

"Shit, I'm tireder than I thought. I didn't mean to let that slip. I just – I had this dream, where this lyric popped into my head, and I don't have any paper, and the best way to make it stick is to tell someone else .."

Brad groans and rolls to sitting, irrationally glad that he's alone, because explaining random 3am phone calls from his ex-boyfriend is never something he wants to do to whoever might have caught his attention enough to bring them home. (He'll never admit to anyone that he's _scared_ of another relationship, laughing it all off as saying he's too young to settle down, but the way things ended with Adam terrified him on a deep, barely-acknowledged level, and apart from a couple of guys who stuck around for longer than a couple of days – though never longer than a couple of months – Brad's been careful to stay ... on the surface.)

"Start again," he says, well-practiced in 3am Adam-speak, "use your words and start making sense, or I'll hang up."

Adam sighs heavily right into Brad's ear. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I meant to call Danielle but she said last time that if I called her at 3am again, she was going to break into my house and steal my steak knives, or something. And Neil said he’d set fire to my vintage t-shirts. So ..."

"So you called me. I'm honoured." Brad's a little impressed that he can manage sarcasm at 3am.

Adam's not quite so impressed, however, and he’s way too focused for the middle of the night. "Fuck you. _Anyway_ , moving on as awkwardly as possible ..."

They talk for a while after that - mostly Adam talks, while Brad makes supportive, sympathetic noises. It's not that he doesn't care, it's just ... it's 3am and he'll never be a fan of listening to Adam talk about how he broke up with someone, because it brings other memories to the surface; memories that are still painful if Brad lets himself dwell.

Which he doesn't.

Almost never.

He shakes his head and blinks, pulling the phone away from his ear to check the time. Adam's in mid-flow about ... lyrics, Brad, thinks, forcing his mind back to the present. Which is ... "Adam it's four-fucking-thirty."

There's a bubble of silence, then a rueful laugh buzzes down the phone line. "Shit, is it? Fuck. I'm sorry. But it's – stuck in there now. I won't forget it. Thank you." 

Brad has to smile at that, Adam's voice low and sweet and familiar in his ear, and he bites back his own possibly slightly wistful sigh. "I'm not going to say any time because it's four-fucking-thirty, but you're welcome. Say good night, Adam."

"Good night, Adam," comes back to him, Adam's voice sounding tired, but rippling with laughter.

Brad pushes the off button and puts his phone on the nightstand, but sleep eludes him as old memories swirl in his head, tangling up and making him distantly ache for something that he thought he had put behind him a long time ago.

Brad deals with problems one of two ways: if it's something he knows he can deal with, he does it straight away, not interested in lingering, or dithering. Or, if it's something he doesn't know what to do with, he tucks it as far away in his mind as he can, until – by sheer effort of will – it fades into the background of his everyday life.

He's been friends with Adam since – well not since they broke up, because there was a period there where they couldn't even be in the same room together, let alone have conversations without words deliberately designed to sting – but for a long time, and so this sudden re-activation of interest in Adam's love life is ... unwelcome.

He decides that it's _really_ outstayed its welcome when jealousy strikes out of _nowhere_. 

Brad doesn't believe in jealousy. Or at least, he tries not to. It's just a negative sucking force to him; like guilt. He set guilt behind him a _long_ time ago, right after he got home from his very first "pray the gay away" camp that his mother sent him to when he was 13. The anger still catches him by surprise, sometimes, but guilt? Never. 

And jealousy, for him, is in the same category as guilt. It's a wasted, wasted emotion. So when it pushes at him, buffeting him like a strong wind, after Adam tweets his band pictures and he sees the little twink bassist or whatthefuckever he is hanging off Adam's arm, Brad reflexively drops his phone on the floor, shaking. 

He jumps when the phone starts ringing, it's tone set to one of Cassidy's songs, which means Cassidy got hold of his phone again ... Brad leans over and picks it up, and because the universe is sometimes an amazing, broad magic place, and sometimes a giant sucking hole, it is, of course, Adam.

Brad has a policy of always answering his phone, unless he's at a movie, or in a meeting or something. Always.

Now, he reflexively switches it off and doesn't answer it when he sees Adam's name on the display for the next two weeks.

"You're baiting him," Danielle says, when they meet up for lunch. She points her fork at him in an accusing and vaguely threatening manner before stealing a piece of chicken off his plate.

"You're hoping that if you ignore him long enough, he'll come and break your door down, and sweep you off your feet like Scarlett O'Hara or something”

Brad props his chin on his hand, not even bothering to deny what Danielle's saying, just letting her accusations wash over him and sink in. He kind of deserves them.

After dropping his phone so dramatically, he had ruthlessly sifted through the jealousy, and the sudden nostalgia that had started resurfacing after the Idol show, taking it all out and examining it with the clinical precision of a heart surgeon doing a transplant.

What he'd found at the end of that sometimes unpleasant examination of his feelings was that he was in love with Adam. Not _still_ , because as much as they had loved each other before, it was a kind of desperate, shining first love that was never destined to last, and it had burned out fast and furious, although painfully.

No – he's in love with Adam again. With Adam _now_ ; who's not exactly the same man Brad knew before. He's much more interesting and layered, and it's partly because of the Idol stuff, and the fame thing, but there's so much more to it than that and Brad wants to know everything about this new Adam – about his character, and what he likes and doesn't like; how he faces his life now, and does he even want - 

"Not like Scarlett O'Hara," he says, cutting off the insecure train of thought that whispers to him that Adam's not going to see him now as anything but a petty fame-whore, as untrue and illogical as that is. "I mean, she was basically raped by Rhett, and then she's all ... cat who got the cream?"

Danielle stabs another piece of chicken and that's really unfair, because she's got a whole plate of food to herself – she doesn't need to be stealing his as well.

"Stop diverting. We're not getting into Gone With the Wind right now. Are you, or are you not trying to get Adam to come to you, instead of manning up, going to his place and climbing him like a tree?"

Brad spits his wine at that, and he's kind of pissed because it's _really_ good wine. "You couldn't wait until after I took a drink?"

"Diverting. What are you going to do?"

Danielle believes in action. In being forthright and in going for what you want. Adam loves that about her. So does Brad – when she's not trying to get him to cut his heart out of his chest and hand it to someone who might not want it anyway.

"What are you going to do to me if I say ‘nothing’?"

Danielle's eyes narrow, and that's really the only signal Brad needs. He throws his hands up in surrender and mentally gives the universe the finger. Tomorrow, if this all works out, he'll put spare change in all the nearly expired parking meters he can find, and balance his cosmic karma that way.

"You know he's been driving me as nuts as you have," she says, after they struggle briefly over who's going to pay the tab. Danielle wins by virtue of the fact she's somehow hung on to her fork after their waiter had cleared the plates, and holds it above Brad's hand in a threatening manner. He withdraws as graciously as he can and watches as Danielle pays the bill before helping her put on her jacket.

"Right. Come on. I'll give you a ride. I'm tired of shuttling between you two like a fucking ping pong ball and listening to your angst and your bullshit, and your should-we-shouldn't-we." 

They're walking down the street to her car, and Brad finds himself nearly running to catch up as frustration fuels her steps and gives her speed. She spins to face him, her car keys poking up between her fingers.

"I"m going to tell you what I told Adam: cut it out. Whatever you had before – it was lovely and romantic and sweet, but it ended. And it was okay that it ended. What you can build now is _so_ much better and stronger than that. And yes, yes you should."

Danielle leans in and puts her hands on his face, resting her forehead against his. "And sometimes," she says, quietly, "You just have to take a leap of faith, and hope like fuck that there's someone to catch you on the other side. You know that better than almost anyone."

In the end, it's surprisingly easy. Or at least, it's easier than he expects it to be. Danielle drops him off and wishes him luck before disappearing. Brad stares at the door for a while – a perfectly ordinary wooden door with a perfectly ordinary doorknob ... he's being ridiculous. He knocks, and listens as the sound reverberates on the other side.

Danielle had made sure Adam was home today; set to start rehearsals in a couple of days for the AMAs, and he's taking all the down-time that he can. 

He answers the door bare-foot wearing worn-down jeans and a faded t-shirt, his face bare of makeup.

"Hi," Brad says, and as starters go it lacks a little finesse, but he's improvising. Adam doesn't move, and his expression doesn't change, although he quirks one eyebrow up, questioning.

"Uh ... Danielle dropped me off. She ... thinks we should talk."

Adam leans on the doorframe and folds his arms. "You won't return my calls, but you're here because Danielle thinks we should talk?"

 

Brad takes a deep breath because this is it. This is his whole life, future, whatever other romantic comedy cliche his brain can dig up, right in front of him. "No. I"m here because _I_ think we should talk. I - " His voice fails him at the same time as his courage. 

Realistically, they talk here and there, and they've maintained a mildly flirtatious friendship, and he's basing his whole future on that? Brad suddenly feels as though he's standing on quicksand.

Adam's studying his face, closely, although he hasn't actually moved any closer. His eyes are intent on Brad's face, a small frown making a line on his forehead between his eyebrows. 

Adam moves then, stepping closer, but still not touching.

"Come inside. You're right. We should talk."

Adam reaches out his hand, smiling, and there’s warmth in his eyes now, and Brad finds he can breathe a little bit easier. Their fingers weave together easily, and it’s encouraging in its own way, but he knows that whatever's ahead of them now – and the way Adam's looking at him, his eyes looking dark blue as they seem to respond to something visible and naked on Brad's face it's something big and amazing – the last thing it will be is _easy_.

But – finally – Brad feels ready.

For anything.


End file.
